


Airports and Anticipation

by 1848pianist



Series: Miles to Go Before I Sleep [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1848pianist/pseuds/1848pianist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan's flight is late, so Combeferre waits. And waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Airports and Anticipation

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this series has very little plot or character development whatsoever but we all know that the Les Mis fandom needs happiness when we can get it so there you go.  
> And as pointed out by Jehanferres, who this was written for anyway, we just don't know how Jehan's text capitalization works.

Combeferre prided himself being prepared. This was lucky, he supposed, since the plane he was waiting for was currently – he checked again – three hours late. At least he had brought a book with him. 

            Two hours, forty-five minutes now.

            It was just past nine in the evening, so everything within walking distance of the airport was either closed for the night or not the sort of place that Combeferre wanted to wait for three hours. He found the airport coffeeshop instead and joined the crowd of people who were also waiting for planes to land. He wondered how many people were, like him, waiting for someone they had never met before. As he thought, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

            _Apparently we’re stopping for fuel_ , Jehan had texted. _They say it’ll be around three when we get in_. Combeferre groaned aloud.

            _Three?_ he typed back.

            _Bad weather or something_ , Jehan replied. _I’d walk from New York if I could_.

            Combeferre smiled.

            Five hours, forty-five minutes.

            He sighed, then decided that if he had waited months for this, he could wait a few more hours. He went back to his book, knowing it was going to be a long night.

 

            About an hour later, Jehan texted him again.

            _This airport is boring as hell. as is this line._

            At least he would get through Customs, Combeferre thought.

            _tell me about Chicago._   _I hear they like baseball there_.

            _I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but I’m not really included in ‘them’._

            _so what’s your plan for the week?_

_I’m not really sure yet, honestly. maybe we’ll just ride around on the subway._

_go to pretentious cafés_

_Even more pretentious museums_

_parks. restaurants. unnecessary shops selling even more unnecessary things._

_libraries. Lake Michigan. theatres._

_your apartment_

_sure_

_I’m at the desk now. talk to you later._

Four-and-a-half hours.

 

            Combeferre was beginning to get tired, but not so tired so as to stop paying attention to the expected arrival time of Jehan’s flight. Anyway, the caffeine from all the airport coffee he had consumed in the last hour or so was beginning to kick in. He finished his book, rummaging in his backpack for his iPod. All the songs, of course, suddenly seemed extraordinarily relevant to his life.

            Three hours.

 

            It was officially the next day, now, but Combeferre wasn’t awake enough to notice. The seats in the waiting area seemed designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, but, after all, he had expected to be home by this time. He dreamed, but only the confused images of the caffeine-wired and half-asleep.

            An old woman tapped him on the shoulder to wake him up.

            “A flight just landed,” she said kindly. “Is it the one you’re waiting for?”

            It wasn’t, but Combeferre thanked her anyway and resolved to stay awake.

            Jehan had texted him.

            _we’re back in the air._

Less than an hour.

 

            The excited, nervous tension that had been building in Combeferre over the course of the night seemed close to exploding by the time Jehan’s flight landed. Combeferre stood by the gates, waiting as patiently as he could force himself to. The old woman from earlier gave him a knowing look from where she was waiting more calmly a few feet away.

At last, Combeferre could see people coming off the plane. He looked for Jehan, but saw only tired businessmen in rumpled suits. But of course, he remembered, first class would be unloading now.

Combeferre closed his eyes, counting to thirty before opening them and scanning the crowd again.

There he was. Even through dirty glasses and tired eyes, Combeferre recognized Jehan by the few pictures he had of him. This was entirely different, though – seeing him in person, in motion. Jehan hadn’t noticed him yet and was busy checking his carry-on, glancing up every now and then to scan the now-crowded gate before looking down again.

Finally, though, Combeferre caught his eye. Jehan’s face broke into a wide grin, and he broke through the tangle of other passengers, long hair flying and carry-on bouncing against his hip as he ran.

“Combeferre!” he said delightedly, kissing him before there was any chance of reply.

“I guess I got the right person,” Combeferre laughed as a few of the gathered crowd broke into whistles and applause. A few of the businessmen coughed uncomfortably. “Come on, let’s get your bags and go to my apartment,” he suggested.

“That sounds great,” Jehan agreed, slipping his hand into Combeferre’s. “I don’t even know what time zone my head is in right now.”

Combeferre felt absolutely giddy. “Come on.”


End file.
